Don't Let This Be Real
by DeterminedCunning
Summary: Sherlock finds himself in an unknown location. While trying to discover where he is and how he got there, our favorite consulting detective begins to realize that something is missing from his life. As he searches to find what it is that he is missing, he ends up finding more than he bargained for. Eventual Johnlock.
1. Must Be the Truth

**A/N: **The usual disclaimer, I do not own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters. I am just doing this for fun.

Other notes: Everything in italics is Sherlock's thoughts because this is coming from his point of view. I welcome all reviews, both good and bad. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 1: Must Be the Truth**

_Heart rate, normal. No pain. Breathing rate, steady. Hunger, absent. Physically, in perfect condition. Position, horizontal. Feels as if on air. Too soft to be any bed. _

He opens his eyes. _Large amounts of light. White light. Very bright. Hurts to look at. Too bright for any artificial light source. Too bright for the sun. Conclusion: Unknown. _

Sherlock Holmes is not one to be left without a conclusive answer. The fact he doesn't know where this light is coming from infuriates him. He quickly stands up to find out the source of this light. However, he realizes that he doesn't even know where he is. Sherlock spins around in a circle, trying to figure out his surroundings, and as he does the light begins to fade.

_Looks like London. I can see all the monuments that give away classic London. _Sherlock takes a deep breath through his nose. _It doesn't smell like London. _Sherlock continues to examine where he is standing. _This is way too clean. The sidewalk is spotless. There should be a least trash or gum on the streets somewhere. In addition it is too quiet for this time of day of….4:36 in the afternoon. _As soon as he thinks about all the things that are wrong, London changes itself for Sherlock. There are wads of chewed gum stuck to the side walk, rubbish in the streets. People begin to flood the city. Too busy living their lives to give Sherlock a second thought. The city is filled with noise of people talking, cars honking their horns, and the train rumbles beneath the city surface. _Odd. Maybe this is London. _

Sherlock begins to walk the streets of London. A cold breeze comes through the city, he reaches towards his neck. _That's odd, I am not _wearing_ a scarf. Why would I leave my house without a scarf knowing the weather was going to be like this? Partially cloudy, 10 degrees Celsius, with a 60 percent chance of rain later in the evening. _Again, as he thought about his missing scarf, it appeared around Sherlock's neck.

_The universe is seldom lazy for coincidences. _It was after the appearance of his scarf that Sherlock realized he could manipulate his surroundings. All he had to do was think about something and it would appear or disappear. Just as Sherlock had wished for a pack of cigarettes, he was stopped by a familiar voice.

"Hello Sherlock," the voice from behind Sherlock stated. Its tone was soothing to Sherlock, it made him feel at ease. "Did not take you long to try to use the system to your advantage I see. I do not find it surprising at all." The voice chuckled.

_Judging by the sound of the voice, female. Her vocal cords are not as high pitched, older female. Coming from a low angle, shorter than me. Knows my habits. Mother perhaps. Why don't I recognize the sound of my own mother's voice? _

Sherlock turns around, and as soon as he sees where the voice is coming from, the name quickly rushes back to him. "Hello Ms. Hudson."

"Nice to see you again dear." She smiles and tries to give Sherlock a hug.

Sherlock allows for her to embrace him, but does not hug back. _Hmm…hug is longer than normal, leading me to believe that it has been awhile since she has seen me. When was the last time I saw Ms. Hudson? Why didn't I recognize her voice, or know when I saw her last? I probably deleted that information. _

"It has been well over fifteen years since I last saw you Sherlock. I thought I would have been seeing you sooner, but at the same time, I am happy it has been this long." Ms. Hudson looks at Sherlock with her kind eyes. "How about we go for a walk?"

"A walk where? Where are we going?" Sherlock inquired.

"Let's walk home Sherlock, I feel that there is a lot to discuss."

_Home. Where is home? Why do I not know where I live?_

"What is there that we need to discuss?

Ms. Hudson doesn't answer Sherlock's question. Instead she began to walk. Sherlock followed in silence. Ms. Hudson's strides were too short and slow for Sherlock. He was getting quickly frustrated by needing to slow down for her, but he had no clue where exactly it is that they were walking to.

W_hatever I wish or think about comes true, I haven't seen Ms. Hudson in a long time. Why was she expecting me sooner? Why is she happy she hasn't seen me sooner? _

"Now you are asking the right questions." Ms. Hudson grins. She pauses for a moment before she speaks again. "Sherlock, do you know where we are?"

"London. Obviously." Sherlock announced coldly.

"London you say? Are you sure this is London? It looks like London though doesn't it. I am not surprised it looks like London. You always loved the city. There is no one I have ever met who loved the city more than you Sherlock."

Sherlock hesitates, he never got anything wrong, but he couldn't deny that something was off about London. London was his city. He knew all its ins and outs. He knew every street, alley way, and hidden treasure. Yet, this city seemed foreign to him.

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

"Good, so Sherlock, I ask you again. Where are we?"

_Manipulate the surroundings. Chose London. The bright light from an unknown source. Ms. Hudson relieved to see me so late. Has been 15 years since I saw her last. Why would I not see Ms. Hudson for fifteen years? Why am I forgetting trivial information? Such as Ms. Hudson's voice? It can't be. I have eliminated all other possibilities. This world does not follow the normal rules of physics or life. I simply cannot create something out of nothing. Must test for conformation. I want an English bulldog to appear in front of me. _

A tan and white English bulldog appears in front of Sherlock.

"Have you figured out where we are Sherlock?"

"Depending on your religious views there are multiple names for where I am currently located…" Sherlock rambled.

"Sherlock…" Ms. Hudson interjected.

"In some form of afterlife." Sherlock said quietly.


	2. Side of the Angels

**Chapter 2:** **But I am not one of them.**

"Yes Sherlock, that is correct. Very good."

"I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them." Sherlock pauses. "So what am I doing here?" He asks.

"Well someone thought that this is where you belonged. Even though Sherlock you can be a real prick, you have done the world more good than you will ever know. You have made such a positive impact on so many lives, that of course you would end up here. Now, let's go upstairs and have a cuppa. "

Sherlock looked to his right, and there it was. The black door with the brass numbering. The door knocker was crooked. 221B Baker Street. It just stared at him right in the face. And just like that, something hit him like a brick wall. Sherlock was unable to move, all he could do is just stare at the door.

_What is that feeling in my chest? Heart rate elevated. Breathing, quickened. Emotions could be classified as sadness. Pain. Sherlock Holmes does not have feelings. Caring is not an advantage. Why are my cheeks cold? _Sherlock moves his hands to his cheeks and there are tears streaming down his face. _I am crying, but why. Why am I crying?_

"Come on Sherlock, the tea is ready."

Sherlock hesitates. He slowly begins to walk through the open door and up the stairs. All seventeen stairs.

He looks around, everything looks in order. The wall still has bullet holes, and the aftermath of the blind banker case: the yellow smiley face. His violin case is near his stand. Sherlock goes to his violin and picks it up to see if he can remember to play. There is no particular song Sherlock plays. Just anything that comes to mind. It is somber, but he can't help it. He doesn't feel in the mood to play something happy.

"Sherlock, please sit down." Sherlock hears the clinking of the tea set on the table. Sherlock walks to the closest chair to him.

_Chair, black, leather, generally used in homes with someone who wants to seem cold and off putting. However, this chair is extremely comfortable. Is worn in. Based off the imprint and indents on the chair, I am the normal occupant of this chair. _Sherlock smiles to himself. _Yes this is my chair. How could I have forgotten that I sit here?_

As he gets settled with his cup of tea, Sherlock looks up. To any normal person it wouldn't be worth noting, but the chair directly across from him seems different.

_Chair with plaid grey and red pattern. Based off the footprint marks in the rug the person is rather short in stature. 5 feet 6 inches I would guess. There is a favoring of one leg over the other, my guess is some sort of injury. What injury? _

Sherlock reaches a hand out to touch the chair.

"You still are missing that aren't you?" Ms. Hudson asked. "Doesn't surprise me, people often forget things once they arrive here. I wasn't expecting that this would be the thing you would forget, but I am sure it will eventually come back to you."

Sherlock became quickly frustrated by the fact his landlady was holding out information on him. "Tell me what I am forgetting!" Sherlock bellowed.

"Now Sherlock, yelling at me is no way to get your memories back. They will come back when you are ready to remember. That is why you didn't see London at first, your surroundings are trying to ease you into your new….situation. You will remember when you are supposed to." Ms. Hudson tried to explain to Sherlock, but was no use.

"I want to know now!" Sherlock began to further survey the room.

_Laptop, used frequently. Another person has been here or lives here. The laptop is not Ms. Hudson's, too high tech. The clutter around the laptop is deliberate, so it was not just left here, the laptop has a permanent location. It is on the opposite end of the desk as my violin. So most likely not mine. _Sherlock inhales for smells. _Beyond Ms. Hudson's perfume there are no other female perfume smells, so either the other person living here is a male or a female who doesn't use womanly shampoo, lotion, or perfume. I believe the former. So I am looking for a 5 foot 6 male with a leg injury. That leaves me just as clueless as I was before. _

"I am going to go for a walk. I want to clear my head." With that Sherlock runs out of the flat. Not sure where he is going, but some place is calling his name.

The morgue. It is quiet, there is something familiar and comforting about being in the morgue. Sherlock looks around, expecting there to be a person.

"She is not here yet Sherlock." Ms. Hudson says coming in from behind him. "I always hated the morgue, but I could understand why you would want to come down here."

_The morgue is perfectly organized. The person who works here pays great attention to detail. There are scuff marks on the floor from someone who wears heels, and not that often, normally only to impress. The lab coat that is on the wall has long auburn colored strands._

"Molly Hooper." Sherlock whispers. He quickly remembers the wonderful Molly Hooper all the times she believed in him, and put up with him even though he was nothing but cruel and mean to her.

"Yes dear. She is not here yet, but I am sure she wouldn't mind you making use of the laboratory and morgue for now." Ms. Hudson adds.

Sherlock walks into the laboratory and towards the microscope. He just wanted to look at a few slides. Nothing of importance.

_Bored. I will text Mycroft and cause some trouble. _

"Ms. Hudson, can I borrow your phone, there is no signal on mine." Sherlock asked.

"What's wrong with the landline dear?"

"Nothing, I prefer to text."

"Well alright dear, it's in my coat." Ms. Hudson begins to walk towards her coat.

"Uh here, use mine." A new voice comes from the left of Sherlock's view.

A man, about 5 foot 6, heavy set, glasses is there looking at him.

"Mike Stamford." Sherlock states.

"Yes, funny that I am a person you decided you needed to see. I was not expecting this to happen." Mike chuckles and walks towards Sherlock. "It is good to see you though."

"Why is it funny that I chose to see you? I didn't choose anything. You just appeared." Sherlock huffed.

"This has a particular importance to you. Me, this laboratory, asking to borrow someone's mobile." Mike simply explained. Mike realized Sherlock was just as lost, and looked at him with sad eyes. "It takes everyone some time Sherlock. You will find what it is you are missing."

_I need to think, this is a three patch problem. Nevermind, I don't want patches, I want to smoke. _

Sherlock leaves the laboratory with cigarettes in hand to go smoke outside. However, rather than going out the doors, he walks up to the roof of St. Bart's hospital.

At first the fresh air and the cigarettes calms Sherlock's nerves, but it doesn't last long.

_I am dead. I am dead, with my landlady as my guide and I am missing something important. Since when does Sherlock Holmes feel anything?! _He lights up another cigarette. _I am not sure if I can live…well…exists like this. Without knowing what is going on, and what is missing from my life. _

"Please, please. Don't let this be real. Let this be just a bad trip and have me wake up back in 221B Baker Street. I don't want to go on like this." Sherlock begged.

Sherlock walked towards to the edge of the roof.

_Sadness. Unbelievable amounts of sadness. Why am I sad? Heart rate accelerated. Fight or Flight response. Why am I afraid for my life? _Sherlock walks to the edge and is overcome with grief. He has flashes of him standing on the edge. He hears him saying "This is my note." _Note? What note? Why was I up here? Why would I be standing so close to the edge? _

Sherlock backs away from the edge and runs away from St. Bart's. He doesn't think about where he is going, he is just running. Running until he can't run anymore. Running until he finds where he is supposed to be.

Sherlock ends up at an empty school building, and walks inside. He walks into a large study room with a wall of windows. It seems oddly familiar, however something seems off. One of the windows has a hole in it. _Judging by the size of the hole, this was a bullet hole. Was it a bullet that was shot at me? Is this how I died? I don't think so. This doesn't seem right. _He looks across to where the bullet should have come from, the building next door. Sherlock looks at the windows and sees a figure turning away from him and heading down the stairs.

He turns as quickly as he can to run and catch this mysterious figure. As he exits the building he is surrounded by the Scotland Yard. They have already surrounded the building and have begun investigating, something. Sherlock ignores them however as soon as he sees his mysterious figure outside the police line. _He is exactly 5 foot 6, blonde hair, psychosomatic limp, wearing a ridiculous jumper. _The mysterious figure smiles at the detective.

"Hello Sherlock."

"Hello John."


	3. Elementary My Dear Watson

**A/N: I am sorry; I am not super familiar with the books. What this chapter is based off of is my knowledge of Sherlock Holmes from various movie and TV adaptations as well as online research. This is my disclaimer for those who are well versed in the friendship of Sherlock Holmes & John Watson.**

**Also, for the next couple of chapters there are two Sherlocks. It is slightly like Harry Potter & the Pensive. The Sherlock we have been following so far is invisible, can't say anything, can't interact, but he is a bystander to another Sherlock. So all the talking, and actions which are occurring are taking place by the new Sherlock.**

**Chapter 3: Elementary My Dear Watson**

Just as Sherlock sees John, he feels as if an invisible force is tackling him to the ground. The force takes Sherlock by surprise. He is out of breath and lying on the ground trying to breathe.

"Hold on Sherlock. Sherlock, keep trying to breathe." John's voice is trying to soothe until his voice fades away as Sherlock's eyes begin to close.

* * *

Sherlock's eyes open up. _Odd. There is my body. Well it looks like me. This is not what I was wearing before. The jacket is made of wool, there is a pocket watch in my right vest pocket. A vest? Since when do I wear a vest? The area looks like London, but older. Much older. All the modern day elements are missing. Based off of the architecture, my outfit, as well as the apparel of others, I am to assume that I am currently in the late nineteenth century London._

Other Sherlock walks right through Sherlock and heads down Baker Street.

_Must be invisible. How convenient. Well, I might as well follow the other me to find how where I am going. _

It isn't long before both Sherlock's find themselves at a crime scene.

"About time you showed up. We have been waiting for you." A man coldly states. "This is an odd case."

"Detective Lestrade. I see you are out of your depth yet again." Other Sherlock sneers.

The man is short in stature, and not a handsome man. Detective Lestrade has rat like qualities to his face, with a pudgy body. While Lestrade is a detective for the Scotland Yard, he often relies on Sherlock to help solve most if not all of his cases.

_Clothes have not been washed or pressed in at least two weeks. Beard and hair untrimmed. Must have been kicked out of his house again. No smell of alcohol on his clothes or breath. Bags under his eyes show a lack of sleep. _

"Had a fight with the missus again about you working too much?" Sherlock inquires. He knows he is correct, but gets joys out of watching Lestrade squirm.

"Sherlock, we called you here to work on the case, not to analyze my married life!" Lestrade barks at him. "And you wonder why you don't have any friends or are capable of keeping a flat mate!"

"Caring is not an advantage Lestrade. Your marriage is prime example of that." Sherlock pauses. "Since you are currently no longer living at home, you could always be my flatmate?

Lestrade chuckles. "Sherlock, I would have you arrested for one reason or another within the first 24 hours."

Sherlock begins to examine the body that is in the middle of an alley way. "How long ago did you find the body?" Sherlock asks.

"Less than two hours ago." Lestrade replies.

"Well, based off of the wound, the size, and the location, I deduce that it was some form of common metal material which caused the damage. The killer is shorter in height than our victim and either a female or a very weak male. In addition, if you were too look at the wedding ring you could see that it was often removed. Why? Probably having an affair. You look at his pocket watch and there are large amounts of scratches where you turn the time. The victim was a cheating alcoholic, and our killer is their house maid who is also his mistress. He promised her that he would leave his wife for her, she found out differently and killed him by hitting him on the head with a frying pan. That was utterly dull." And with his deduction, Sherlock turns on his heel and leaves the crime scene.

Sherlock walks into the local hospital and goes to the laboratory to finish conducting various experiments.

"Sherlock?" It may have been minutes or hours since Sherlock arrived in the laboratory. He was too engrossed in his experiment to worry about something as meddlesome as the time.

"Sherlock?!" The voice says louder.

"I heard you the first time Mr. Stamford, how can I help you?" Sherlock replies.

"You know how you were saying that you were looking for a flat mate?"

Sherlock looks up. There is a man 5 foot 6, lean in build, with a ridiculous mustache, and side burns. _He is carrying a walking stick made out of rare African snakewood, which looks like it is a hiding a blade, five tenths out of steel, which was awarded to veterans of the Afghan war, so I can assume he is a decorated solider. Strong. Brave. Born to be a man of action. And neat like all military men. I can see a stub from the boxing match in his pocket, now I can infer he is a bit of a gambler. _

"I play the violin it helps me think." Sherlock says as he goes back to his experiment. "Based off of your military history, I doubt that noises will deter you from sleeping or performing day to day activities."

"How did.." Sherlock cuts off the new man in the laboratory.

"Elementary, my dear Doctor Watson. Your walking stick gave it away. I also don't talk for days on end, will that bother you?" Sherlock continues. "Also, your English Bulldog will be no problem either."

The man tries to get a word in but Sherlock interjects. "I will see you at 221B Baker Street, 8 o'clock sharp tomorrow."

Sherlock grabs his coat and makes a dramatic exit out of the laboratory. "And by the way, the name is Holmes, Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

There is another flash of light and there is other Sherlock and Dr. John Watson at a grave site. Dr. Watson is quietly sobbing, while Sherlock tries to remain as cold and stoic as ever.

"Odds are Dr. Watson that you will find someone else…" Sherlock quietly adds.

"Shut up Holmes!" Watson yells. "I do not need your statistics to help me feel better! They won't make me feel better! You machine! Just because you don't feel a thing doesn't mean the rest of the world is incapable of emotions too! I do not understand how you can be the best man I have ever known yet so inconsiderate." Dr. Watson storms off leaving Sherlock at the headstone by himself.

"Mary, I am so so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen to you. It should have been me instead of you. He could have lived without me, he did it before. How is he going to carry on without you?" Sherlock begins to cry. "What am I supposed to do? How do I help him heal?"

_This is highly illogical, she can't hear me. She hated me anyway, she is probably enjoying the fact that I am here struggling trying to put my best friend back together._

Sherlock gains composure and follows after his best friend back into the carriage to head back to the old flat.

* * *

A flash of light occurs, and now the setting is a farm out in the country. Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are older. Both in the early 60's.

"I really hate these bees Holmes!" Dr. Watson states. "They are constantly stinging me! I don't know why you wanted to be a bee keeper! Out of all the professions in the world, you chose a bee keeper!"

Sherlock chuckles. "You didn't have to follow me Dr. Watson, you could have stayed in London. With all the technology, you would have been a great asset to the medical school."

"Yeah, but where would you be without your companion?" Dr. Watson smiles.

Sherlock knew Dr. Watson was right. After the death of Mary it was difficult for Sherlock to get through to Dr. Watson again, but it eventually happened. They moved into 221B and solved crimes until Sherlock got injured and couldn't keep up with the consulting detective business anymore. Sherlock got this crazy notion that he wanted to be a bee keeper, and Dr. Watson followed. And the two of them lived there until they died of old age.


	4. I accept

**A/N: Again this is a chapter with two Sherlocks, but I hope it makes sense. **

**Also, this chapter deals with the military, which I have no experience with and no prior knowledge. So if there are any errors in my naming of things, or habits, I apologize in advance, but feel free to correct me!**

**Chapter Four: I accept**

First there is a loud boom which leaves Sherlock with ringing in his ears. Shortly after there is a flash of light, followed by progressive more amounts of blasts all around.

_Fireworks? _Sherlock smells the air. _No, doesn't smell right. Bombs? Now that compound as well as the debris I know see flying around me makes sense. War Zone. _He looks to the sky. _Aircraft, elementary, and based off of the Swastika on some of the aircraft: World War II. _

"Holmes!" A male voice yells from behind Sherlock. "What are you doing here?!"

A man, who looks like Sherlock, but much younger in physical age, but as aged horribly is dressed in civilian clothing on the battle field.

"I am trying to solve the case!" Sherlock replies. He continues further into the war zone which is occurring in front of him. Paying no heed to the dropping on the bombs overhead.

"No case is worth your life Sherlock, please come back!" The voice pleads.

"You signed me up for this case in the first place, Mycroft!"

"Yes Sherlock, but please. Can I find you someone to accompany you into the battle field and protect you?"

"I do not need protect big brother." Sherlock says coldly.

"Ok Sherlock. How about an extra set of eyes to help with the case? Or just an extra set of hands?"

"You won't let me do this alone will you?"

"Not a chance." Mycroft adds.

Sherlock walks away from the battle ground and towards his brother as they try to head back to base and safety before the bombs get closer.

"And who exactly do you have in mind to help me with my cases here in the middle of this war? Don't the men have better things to do?" Sherlock questions.

Mycroft smiles to himself. He has one person in particular who would be a great fit for his younger brother. A military doctor. Only slightly older than Sherlock, he has two years on him. He is not one to get angry quickly, very loyal, and an adrenaline junkie.

The Holmes brothers make it back to base, Mycroft asks one of the officers to go find Sherlock's future crime solving partner.

_Very fit. Enjoys being in physical shape. Does it as a way to release endorphins. 5 foot 6, sandy blonde hair. Slightly longer than what is to be expected from the military. It is war time. Grey blue eyes which open straight into his soul. Like tiny skies in his eyes. Based off of the drops of blood found on his uniform and no visible wounds on his person, he is a military doctor. Means he is very caring. Use to high stress. Addicted to the stress? Why he enlisted rather than drafted in the war. _Sherlock's thoughts are interrupted.

"Sherlock, this is Dr. John H. Watson, military doctor. Dr. Watson, this is my brother, Sherlock Holmes, he is a civilian detective. He is here working on a" Mycroft pauses. "A disappearance of some very important artifacts, and documents from the British Government."

John Watson extends his hand to Sherlock. Sherlock looks John straight in the eyes while he accepts the hand shake.

"Nice to meet you." John says to Sherlock.

Sherlock doesn't respond. He is too busy analyzing and studying as much as he possibly can about his potential partner. While Sherlock can pick up on the basic information about Dr. Watson. Some attributes are remaining a mystery. And this fascinates him.

After some time of just awkwardly standing there holding John's hand, Sherlock breaks out of his trance. "I accept." Sherlock just says to the general vicinity.

"Exxxccuse me?" John Watson asks. "You accept what?"

Mycroft jumps in. "Excellent. I had a feeling Sherlock that you would deem him a good match. You two can start on the case tomorrow."

"WHAT IS GOING ON?" John Watson yells trying to figure out what was just agreed upon and how it involves him.

"You are here to help me solve this case, John Watson." Sherlock states. "Do try to keep up." Sherlock and Mycroft go their separate ways leaving John Watson standing like an idiot still not understanding what is going on.

Sherlock woke John up before sunrise.

"Jesus Christ!" John yells, waking up the other men around him. John whispers. "Why are in you here? And what time is it?"

"It is 4 o'clock in the morning. I was bored waiting for you to wake up, so I thought I would wake you instead." Sherlock loudly replies, not concerned about the nearby soldiers.

"You were bored? Don't you sleep?" John continues to whisper.

"Yes, bored. Just like I am now of having this irrelevant conversation. And no, sleep is a waste of time when there is much more to be done." Sherlock stares at John for a second and then continues. "Hurry up John Watson. The game is on!"

Sherlock had such enthusiasm in his voice that John has no option but to grin. It was infectious. Even though Sherlock woke him up before the sun.

John Watson hurries to get ready, not wanting Sherlock to leave without him.

"We were so close!" Sherlock complains. "What did I miss? What did I forget? Think! Sherlock THINK!"

John is next to Sherlock out of breath. They have been on this case for over six months and there is no sign of this 'Moriarty' character. While Sherlock and John were able to collect all the missing items, rather quickly in Sherlock's mind. They have not been able to capture the person behind their theft. Sherlock knew that he and John made a good pair. There was no way that Sherlock alone would have been able to fend of the Germans while attempting to collect what he came to the war zone to find. Sherlock of course would never admit this to John or Mycroft.

"Sherlock, please. Maybe it is because you haven't eaten in five days or slept in a week. How about we head back to base, eat, and sleep, and continue on with our journey afterwards. We are not making any progress being frustrated with the situation." John advises Sherlock. Normally Sherlock hates being told what to do, but if John asks nicely, Sherlock would do anything John asks.

"Fine." Sherlock mumbles. The two find a way back to the nearest base and head straight to the mess tent.

"Sherlock. John!" A man bellowed from across the tent. Sherlock and John walk closer to the man, ignoring all the looks the other men are giving them. "It is so good to see you two again. I see you are still together." The man winks at Sherlock.

"Angelo, you know we are not together, and even if we were, the military would give me a dishonorable discharge." John admits. John quickly looks away from Angelo, trying not to make eye contact.

_Flushed cheeks, pupils dilated, not wanting to make eye contact. Is John gay? _

The two men grab food and find a place to sit at the end of a table. Everyone stares at the two gentlemen making snide comments.

"Well John, are you?" Sherlock asks while ignoring his food.

"Am I what?" John quickly gets defensive.

"Gay? Based off of my observations, I would say that you are, but possibly still wanting to keep it a secret."

"Did you not listen to a word I said to Angelo? I can't afford to be kicked out of the military. No one would take me as a doctor. Sherlock" John hesitates to finish his sentence. Instead he bits his lip, turns and leaves Sherlock and his dinner behind.

The next day Sherlock is waiting for John at their normal meeting spot, but John is late. John is never late. Sherlock is trying not to panic.

_Why would I care if John is late? Why would I care if something happened to John? Caring is not an advantage. Heart rate, and breathing rate would suggest that I care…_

"Umm..Hello?" A voice blurts out. "I am Sergeant Anderson, I was assigned to you by a Mr. Holmes. He told me to be here at this time."

"What happened to John?" Sherlock demands.

"I am sorry, but who is John?"

"Captain Watson, a medical doctor."

"I don't know him. But I am curious, what exactly is it that we are going to be doing together?"

By that point, Sherlock tunes out Anderson. John just left Sherlock. He left without saying goodbye. Sherlock debates on going into his mind palace and deleting all the memories and observations he has made about his companion for the past six months, but decides to lock it into a room instead.

"Have you even been listening to me?!" Anderson asks annoyed.

Sherlock starts walking, and doesn't turn around because he hears Anderson's feet following behind him.

The next two months are a drag. Sherlock works harder than normal because he can't stand working with Anderson.

At first he tried not to compare his new partner to his former, but Anderson wasn't John. Anderson's hair looked like a brown black haired wig, his nose was abnormally large, and he always was cross with Sherlock. He missed John's hair, the way that John that just accepted Sherlock for who he was. Plus, Sherlock heard Anderson calling him a freak to some of his friends.

Once Sherlock destroys Moriarty and his web of allies, he boards a plane to head back home, to London.

* * *

There is knocking coming from the door with a flash of light. Sherlock elects to ignore it. The knocking doesn't go away, rather knocks louder.

_Who would want to get a hold of me so badly? _Sherlock, still in his pajamas and a robe, not bothering to change, answers his door and his tackled into a hug. .

"Do you know how long it took for me to find you?!"

Sherlock looks at the person who hugged it, and has a slight smile on his face until he removes it. Sherlock pushes the hugger away from him.

"Why would you be looking for me, you were the one who left me John." Sherlock hisses.

"Yes, I left. I know I left. But I couldn't have you saying that I was gay in the mess hall. I am sorry I never said good bye. That is why the first thing I did when I got back was look for you." John pleads with Sherlock. "Sherlock, I am so sorry."

"It's ok John. I found out I didn't need you, Anderson was a wonderful fit for me and he helped me with my case ways you couldn't imagine."

John laughs before Sherlock even finishes his sentence. "I haven't seen you in almost a year, but I know when you are lying Sherlock Holmes. And you are lying. You couldn't stand Anderson, and" John steps as close to Sherlock as possible, leaving barely breathing room between the two of them. "Let's face it. You missed me."

Sherlock tries not to breathe. He doesn't know what to say. So instead he does the only thing he can think of. He cups one hand on John's cheek and the other behind his head and kisses John on the lips. Much to Sherlock's surprise, John kisses back. He wraps his arms and hands around Sherlock's back pulling him in closer.

John pulls away, "So I guess you did miss me."

Sherlock just smiles, not wanting to admit the fact that he did indeed miss his partner in crime.

"Are you looking for a place to stay? I do have a spare bedroom open. We could be flat mates if you would like." Sherlock questions, trying not to give away too much enthusiasm.

John beams. "That would be perfect! My living situation isn't going well right now, and I would love to move in here. We could even continue on solving crimes. From what I hear, you don't do much now a days."

"From what you hear!?" Sherlock hollers.

"How do you think I found you? I had to talk to Mycroft. At first he was hesitant to tell me where you were, but for some reason he changed his mind and told me where you were living and what you have been up to."

"Oh. Well, I guess I would like to solve crimes. I could be the world's only consulting detective, and you could be my assistant." Sherlock announces.

"Your assistant? Just your assistant?" John kisses Sherlock until their lips are swollen and they have wasted the day away.

* * *

A flash of light and Sherlock is running. Running life his life depends on it.

"JOHN! JOHN WHERE ARE YOU!?" Sherlock screams as he runs through alley ways trying to find where the murderer and John could have disappeared. Sherlock hears faint talking, and Sherlock runs in that direction.

"Please, just put the gun down." John stammers. "You will not be making things any easier for yourself if you kill me."

Kill John? Sherlock tries to find his way through the streets to attack the murderer and save John.

Sherlock runs into a dark alley way to find himself between the murder and his best friend, his flat mate, his partner in crime, and his boyfriend. Sherlock's sudden appearance scares the murder. He doesn't have much time to act. Sherlock moves quickly to place himself in front of the bullet.

Pain. Unbelievable amounts of pain. Sherlock falls to the ground. He hears another gun go off. His thoughts race to John.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, I am ok. Sherlock. I need you to stay with me. I am going to put pressure on your wound. Stay with me. Please Sherlock. I love you. Stay with me. It will…" John sobs, as Sherlock's eyes close.

* * *

A flash of light opens up to a scene. John Watson is speaking in front of a very large crowd. He looks older, but not by much.

"Sherlock was a great man." John Watson stutters. "He may have seem cold and rude to most, but he cared more deeply than any other person I have met. I shall ever regard him as the best, and the wisest man whom I have ever known. I was alone, and I owe you so much. This city owes you so much Sherlock. You will be missed, but none more than me."

There is not a dry eye in the room by the time John Watson is done talking. He goes to sit down next to a fair red headed lady who holds his hand while others go up to speak.

Eventually it is just John and the casket in the room. John slowly walks up to the casket and places his hand on the closed coffin. "Why did you leave me here alone? What am I going to do without you? Sherlock, I should be the one dead. Not you. Sherlock. I am not strong enough to do this. I love you Sherlock. I love you so much."


End file.
